


Asphyxiation

by HolyMotherOfGallifrey



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Case Fic, First sherlock fic, M/M, One shot maybe I dont know?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:50:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1046225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyMotherOfGallifrey/pseuds/HolyMotherOfGallifrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bursting through metal framed doors of a secured research building, Sherlock's intense look contradicted the excitement in his stride; John, failing to keep to his heel, looked as serious as ever while approaching the crime scene. Sherlock weaved in and out of the police officers and roughly lifted the tape to get a better view of the corpse lying on its side......</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asphyxiation

**Author's Note:**

> This is a a short fic I wrote after watching the first series after it aired, I had some intention of carrying it on to them becoming something but I don't know (comments on how to improve and suggestions on how to carry on will be so very helpful! this is the first fic I have ever written)

Bursting through metal framed doors of a secured research building, Sherlock's intense look contradicted the excitement in his stride; John, failing to keep to his heel, looked as serious as ever while approaching the crime scene. Sherlock weaved in and out of the police officers and roughly lifted the tape to get a better view of the corpse lying on its side, in the dead centre of the lift. John observed the crime scene, making mental notes, before quickly turning to Sherlock, eager to know what he knew in the same glance John had taken.

Sherlock kneeled down at the entrance of the lift, his finger crooked at his lips. In the back centre of the small space was a discoloured patch, barely noticeable to most, but Sherlock noticed it. That was what he did, and that was what he was rather good at. He then examined the discolourment of the corpse. He removed his glove from his right hand and scraped one finger across the discoloured carpet, confirming his first thoughts.

Lestrade came sliding under the yellow tape, "He's the owner of the building, Andrew Miles, 39, found in the early hours of the morning. He's been dead for about 10 hours. This lift's only used during the night by staff, and his daughter said he left his office two flights up, about 11 o'clock last night, they were on the phone as he left the building," The detective inspector stopped expecting a response from the man deep in thought examining the body, "But I guess you knew most of that already," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

"His phone is still in his hand, switched off, which suggests after he talked to his daughter he switched it off before entering the elevator." Sherlock takes the black phone from the cold hand and switches it on, "Last incoming call was from 'Georgia' I assume that's her?" A nod of confirmation from Lestrade, "The lift is cleaned every week: any normal routine would suggest last thing Sunday or first thing Monday, today is Tuesday which tells me he was alone at the time of his death." He abruptly stands to face John and the inspector.

"How did you come to that conclusion, Sherlock?" The inspector steps forward and has a quick look at the inside of the elevator looking for signs to that would suggest this.

"The carpet: it only has one person's movement. You see where the carpet has been disturbed? There's only traces of one shoe tread. But look, there's a particular pattern to it, so it was probably habitual." Sherlock looked at John for a response.

"So he might've died of natural causes, a heart attack?" John suggested, it was obviously the response Sherlock was looking for by the smirk that invaded the man's face.

"Oh, John, not everything is that simple; no, asphyxiation, look at the discolouration of the skin." The two men stood motionless, waiting for Sherlock to continue this, apparently, ridiculous idea.

"Lack of oxygen...In a lift… I thought you said this wasn't a murder Sherlock?!" the inspector complained, scoffing at Sherlock's words.

"I said he was alone, I didn't say it wasn't a murder. See that slight discolouration in the carpet? Caused by a chemical of some sort being poured onto it through the hatch in the ceiling." He pointed to the roof of the lift, there residing a closed emergency door. Both men exchanged a puzzled look, "Liquid nitrogen!" Sherlock's voice had a slight excitement to it, "The gas escaping the liquid matter is much heavier than the air in the elevator." Sherlock gestured his arms, emphasising the explanation of the situation, "The gas pushes all the oxygen up to the top of the elevator starving the man of air within minutes killing him." He stood straight, clearly pleased with himself.

"Once again, brilliant." John breathes almost to himself. Making Sherlock smile in reaction to the flattery. "Well Sherlock I suppose you know who killed him as well?" Sherlock released a burst of frustration in a shout, "This is too easy! Give me something challenging!"

"Sherlock." The inspector warned, used to his childish complaining.

Sherlock gave him a quick look before continuing. "It must be so mundane in those dull little brains of yours, it's obvious. The lift hatch had been locked after the liquid nitrogen was poured through it, suggesting someone that knew the layout and had access to the staff elevator; Mr Miles here was a very wealthy man, just look if the daughter is having a sexual relationship with someone working in this building. Most likely in the research lab three floors up, she would have provided the killer with the time he left the office." Sherlock sighed, partly in exasperation, but mostly in frustration, "I wanted a case not child's play!" He turned and half stormed back through the building, John close behind, still stunned by the speed Sherlock worked at.

"What's wrong? You've wanted a case for the last 2 weeks now you have one," John snapped a little, his shorter legs attempting to keep up with Sherlock.

"Correction, had one. I want something to keep my brain working, not something I can solve in a matter of seconds!" He moved swiftly towards a black cab, hailing it with a wave of his arm.

John checked his watch, "Actually you were in there for 20 minutes Sherlock, hardly seconds," Sherlock turned on his heel to give john a look that quite clearly said criticisms were neither required nor wanted, thank you very much. The two men climbed into the back of the cab, Sherlock giving the driver an address and paid him in advance, already knowing the price. They rode the majority of the way in silence, approaching Speedy's, and their flat, in good time. John looked over to the sulking Sherlock, contemplating Sherlock's methods and mannerism: he had been fascinated from the very first case, completely in awe at the deductions he made on people. He was always surprised by the extend of Sherlock's (sometimes useless) knowledge. But recently there had been something a little more stirring in John's thoughts, something unexplainable that bathed the detective in a brand new light.


End file.
